La Fille de l'Eau
by Servant of Fire
Summary: Sherlock is comatose. Mycroft must tell the truth about his and Sherlock's childhood. John must protect his friend from an unknown threat... Enter La Fille de l'Eau, the Water's Daughter, 20 something years after the encounter with the Red Headed League, from whence the beloved Redbeard got his name... For entertainment purposes only
1. Prolouge

**Fille L'Eau~**

**(The Water's Daughter)**

**To the One Who cancels Fate~**

**Prolouge~**

John's heart comes to a shrieking stop. He feels its pieces in him, like splinters of the rail lines,torn out of the earth in the wake of the Crash of Devil's Train. The pieces embed themselves in his bones, like darts in his soul. And it throbs in his throat.

For a moment the world goes dark.

And then ,with a harsh gasp, as it all comes back, he can feel the adrenaline ,like war drums in his ears. It's like being back in Afghanistan. His legs that were molten iron beneath him, all heat and weight, suddenly have a purpose ,and they drag themselves into a full- blown run.

This isn't happening to him. These things happened to other people. John Watson was supposed to have a normal life. A doctor who shared the flat with the world's greatest (most annoying) detective.

Sherlock Holmes was dead.

The thought was un-real. Absolutely not. He was dreaming...

But still there Sherlock lay ,on the bank of the Thames. Like a porcelain doll, arms spread-eagled around him. Silver green eyes stairing at the sky. Blue lips gaping ,as if in one last attempt of drawing in air.

He lays there dead. Drowned...

Time comes to a still. The world is silent, and John begins to suffocate in an avalanche of molten iron soul-shrapnel.

Out of instinct he starts CPR,and rescue breathing. It may be too late...

The next instance comes in a blur. He hears his voice, cracking with the heat inside of him, as if an echo off the Afghani sand. Shouting orders at the EMTS that somebody sent to the rescue.

Sherlock intubated. Sherlock hefted up into an ambulance.

The world shrieks back into motion, throwing sparks and filing off metal shards of the machine that is Society. Life and death hum in the air, like bees in a hive.

Only John's instinct as a doctor is awake. The other half of him, the part that Sherlock brought back to life ,when he'd all but lost it to the thirst of the Middle Eastren desert, is dying on the table with Sherlock.

_Clear._

An electric shock. A voice in the dark. John feels a hand on his. Molly.

"It's ok." she's saying, though her face is as grey and crumpling ,as burning paper.

_Several more shocks. The hive- hum rising to it's Zenith. Molly's voice._

"It's ok..."

_Then the hum is silent, and a doctor comes striding out of the imagined smoke. A monitor beeps in the background, the tell-tale sound of a still beating heart._

"So far, he's alive. He's remaining that way. He's being kept that way by a machine...We'll give him a little time. But it won't be long before we have to make the decision of whether or no we pull those cords..."

John can forget about that for today. Today the very fabric of all that is Real has just been unthreaded, his world completely unmade.

_ Beep. Beep. Beep._

A heart beating into a machine. Begging for release. A brilliant mind, dying to wake up.

Sherlock Holmes is comatose...


	2. Chapter 1: La Belle Dame sans Merci

**Chapter 1: La Belle Dame sans Merci **

**(The Beautiful Lady without mercy)**

"Madamoiselle L'Eau?"

Claire looks up from the card game she is playing with her crew.

_"Oui, Monsieur?"_

"Madame, I have information concerning the Detective..."

Claire L'Eau's heart skips a beat. All of her life, she has been waiting for this moment.

"Ladies, if you will excuse me, _se vous plez."_

She follows Rene outside.

"Tell me everything. Is he alive? What is he like now that he is ,_ma Deui!, ma tit frere _Sherlock has to be atleast 33 by now!"

Sherlock Holmes. Her best friend. Her only friend, that she has not seen in 23 years...Oh, how fondly she remembers...

_"So they've dumped you here for school? Like a stray kitten?"_

_"You are a rude one, aren't you?"_

_"They say first impressions are of extreme importance. Or so my brother Mycroft tells me, and he would know...pssh! he hasn't even a handful of friends, if he even has one. Is too snobby for the like. My name's Sherlock."_

_"Claire..."_

She remembers an almost nymph-like child. High cheekbones, raven bushel of hair. Shining silver- green eyes. Slender as a jack-knife. Full of mischief. Her first and last true friend. The boy that helped her survive school years as an exchange student, in a fancy English boarding school.

The boy that wanted to be the world's greatest detective. That hadn't run when she had told him her father's secret. The self-same boy that helped her escape the school, when her father's assistant had betrayed them all...

The boy that she had been trying to protect from her family's legacy of piracy ever since the English secret service agents had rescued them from aboard, _La Belle Dame sans Merci. _"La Belle" for short. Her father's ship.

"Tell me all about him, Rene! Oh, how I have missed my little brother! Tell me this first-is he safe? Or do you come to me now, because my father's treacherous assistant, has found us all again?"

" _Trahison _has found us, Claire. Your brother's life may now depend on you and _La Belle_."

"What..what has?"

Claire sags against the wall of the old fishing boat, that once her father used for smuggling, and that once , long ago, she and Sherlock ,as 10 year- olds, had been held as captives on, by _Trahison._ She feels that a blackhole has opened abover her. What had become of her Sherlock ?

"He...drowned..._madamoiselle. _He is lying comatose in an English hospital. It is the work of _Trahison ,_for sure. He created a jewel- heist case to lead him into his trap, and then, he put cement on Clever Sherlock's shoes, and tried to drown him in the Thames...Most unfortunate for the great Detective; far worse for Doctor Watson..."

Yes, Claire had heard of Doctor Watson. She owed the man a huge debt, in her mind at least, for saving Sherlock from himself.

"Ah, Rene..." she gasped...feeling as if she were made of stone.

"I think it is time at last, to arrange for a reunion. We must assist Doctor Watson in awakening Sleeping Brother...I suppose then we are headed for the marina in Liverpool, and shall take the train to London..."

She begged heaven that Sherlock would not slip away before she could see him ,_prier Dieu!, _one final time...


	3. Chapter 2: Sleeping Brother

**Chapter 2: Sleeping Brother~**

The song is supposed to go, "Are you sleeping, are you sleeping, Brother _John."_

John cannot help but feel like it should be himself, lying out of body, there in that stiff,close-to-coffin bed.

By now Mrs. Hudson,and Molly, and Greg have all gathered in a sort of vigil about the Sleeper. Only given chance to be here, after visiting hours, by Lestrade's "legal business- waiting for a family member- this could be a matter of civil security- need to speak with the elder brother- apologies-,oh and by the way ,he's our friend..."

John hasn't let go of the slender ,white hand since he entered the room. Has taken his pulse over and over and over. The others have noticed, and said nothing. The others are willing some extra healing touch into John's fingertips, begging for Sherlock to waken...

But Sherlock goes on sleeping,as if he were made of stone...

Alabaster. Why so white? His hair like the shadow of the sky without stars. He will leave the evening without light when he goes...

Because ,unless they can wake him, he will die. The thought hangs like cobwebs in the air, understood by them all, but voiced by none.

"It's my fault, I _knew _I should have come with him. Bloody jewel-heist, you'd think something like that would be relatively..."John begins...

"Safe?" Greg finishes.

"Well, a safer alternative than busting up, let's say, the Consulting Criminal's network?!"

Molly cringes at the mention of Jim. Then she smiles, brokenly, as if forcing herself to.

"Sherlock is going to wake up!" she says, almost hysterically, as if trying to convince herself. She leans over the dreamer, smooths his hair back over his brow.

"Of course, you are! And when you do, you'll go back to being,...uhmm...yourself. You'll say horrible things, and we'll be so happy to hear you say them. You 'll be rude, and loud. You'll absolutely trash the lab, around tea-time, right when I'm about to leave for a date! You'll see...Sherlock will wake up...Won't you? You'll be back..You always ...come back."

She is fighting tears, and chewing her lip. Greg lays a hand on her shoulder.

"He always does!" she gasps again, "Always..." and then she lays her head on Sherlock's almost motionless chest, praying silently, eyes tightly closed.

John is panting, trying to count his breaths. He isn't sure...He really doesn't know. Sherlock _leaves _a lot too. The question is, in the end, does he leave more than he returns?

Right then Mycroft enters the room, umbrella in tow, and he holds his mobile in his hand, staring blankly at a text he's just received. He closes the device in his fist, and passes ,like smoke over water, to Sherlock's side, ignoring the others.

He leans close to him...And rather than being near tears, the Elder Holmes smiles...

"Wake up, brother mine. Claire is coming to visit. You remember Claire, of course? Your friend...from school, when you were a stupid ,little boy?"

John's ears prick up in wonder...Mycroft licks his lips.

"Sherlock Holmes, " he says in a calm , lecturing sort of tone, "You do realize that you still have several responsibilites on Earth? Miss L'Eau for starters; she is your next -real-case. And then John...heaven forbid you should leave him behind-how dull his life will be! And then of course, D.I. Lestrade...he's utterly lost without you."

"It's true ,mate!" Greg whispers, wringing his hands.

"And Mrs. Hudson. Who in the world will she make tea for?"

Mrs. Hudson nods ferociously, "I'll even wash your laundry,and clean the rooms, and be the housekeeper for one WHOLE week if you wake up, dear!" she gasps, and then her hands cover her mouth.

There is no bargain to be made with a dead man...

John cluthces Sherlock's hand tighter. Mycroft goes on,

"And Molly has dozens and dozens of thumbs she'd rather donate to a charitable cause than discard."

Molly sits up, lays her hands on Sherlock's high cheekbones, "Anything to further science. You can have the rainbow kidney , remember, the one you thought I was making up? It's REAL. I promise! You can have it, hook it to a battery, or whatever you like!"

John feels his heart flutter ,like a sparrow trapped behind a glass. But then it fades away again...

No bargains to be made with the Drowned...


	4. Chapter 3: Trahison's League

**Chapter 3: Trahison's League~**

Mycroft eased himself ,uncomfortably, into a chair opposite John's ,and took Sherlock's other hand.

"The blame, for all of this, I believe,actually rests on me. I have spent too much time moving secrets about like pieces on a chess board. Sherlock's childhood abduction should never have been on that list..."

"His what?!" the others all asked, in unison.

Mycroft sighed heavily, and began:

"When Sherlock was around 8 years old, our parents recognized the potential of his intellect. As a child, Sherlock was initially a musical prodigy. He could play the violin at a professional level,by the age of 7...

But he had also developed some "habits" that my father found distasteful. The same "habits" that have developed into "methods" he has used in his unique career...

Unable to cope ,any longer, with having such a "problematic"(_their _words, not mine) child ( a child that was a detriment to their standing in the academic community; our father is himself an intellectual...) they sent him away to a boarding school for "gifted" children. To be blatantly honest with you, it was actually a mental institution for children and young adults..."

The others had grown very quiet, and said silence was uncomfortable. The thought of Sherlock being institutionalized by his own parents, just for being an overly observant little kid...It was becoming evident where Mycroft's cynicism had come from...

"My brother, had a terrible time in that institution/school. To help with his learning "disabilities" (Sherlock had such a high IQ he didn't learn at the same pace as the other children. He was already ready for uni books by the end of his primary school years...) the nurses, well... medicated him. Which was actually the reason for his drug addictions as a younger man...they accidently hooked him to a drug in the opiate family, which lead him to experimenting with other things...I finally gave him an ultimatum; if he really wanted to pursue a career as a detective, he would have to at least ATTEMPT to dry out, or I would sabotage it all.. He made it through rehabilitation, admittedly, to my great suprise..."

The others looked over at their friend ,who lay defenseless; and they 1wondered if what they were being told was an intrusion into his privacy.

"While he was at this "school", he met a little girl, a few years older than himself, who had been abandoned there by her of-somewhat-questionable-by-way-of-legality father. This girl, Claire L'Eau, was a prodigy in chemistry,having a university level understanding of it, in primary school. She was diagnosed with a severe case of PTSD and what they referred to as "Post- Traumatic Amnesia" upon arriving. I admit, I found the entire affair surrounding this child to be very disturbing, but ...Sherlock had actually made a friend. For the very first time in his short life,he was truly happy, happier even than when I sent him a little dog as a birthday present, labeled with a tag that read:"The Detective's Assistant..."

Suddenly a woman's voice, speaking in a French accent, interrupted him:

" Sherlock and the Little Pooch, had a healing presence about their very air. And this little girl, this Claire L'Eau, the Water's Daughter, was able to tell the child of the Oxford Professor Alfred J. Holmes, her darkest secret. That her father Jean L'Eau, who called himself "The Master of the Water" was a modern day pirate, guilty of crimes of smuggling opiates from Europe and into Asia, via an old fishing boat, he named _La Belle Dame sans Merci, _after his ex-wife, my mother, Isabeau..."

Everyone stared at this beautiful, ginger- haired woman, with wide eyes. John blushed, and the woman's eyes fell on him ,directly.

"I am Claire L'Eau, the daugher of the notorious Master of the Water. And I was abandoned at the school, to be saved from the rage of my father's partner in..."business", a man we know now only as _Trahison, _for the leak of information he made to the Bosses, confidential information concerning members of the French government. When my location was compromised, and I received a letter from my father telling me to escape to Paris, and my Grandmere Esmeralda's home there... Sherlock agreed to help me..."

She went to his bed-side, standing directly behind Molly, who looked up, smiling at her. She offered her a sad smile in return.

"He was already very good at his little magic trick. He helped me to solve what _Trahison _was up to. How he would plan to attack. He concluded, and I swear it is a very complicated story, (one he alone could relate accurately), that _Trahison _had hired a series of ginger- men, that came near the description of my father, via a newspaper add calling for seasoned fisher-men, to be the crew of _La Belle_ , my father's smuggling boat, that he had confiscated when he and my father's crew commited old-fashioned mutiny. Sherlock called these fellows the "Red Headed League" and the two of us held private interviews with these men, in an attempt to stir up their confusion, so as to sabotage this plan, to trap my father, and to trap myself, luring me in where one of these decoys, (Sherlock called them the Carrot-Top Sparticuses") could kill me..."

..." We would have succeeded in our plan (that ultimately would have saved my father' s life), but, unfortunately, we had to keep returning to the school, so as the teachers and nurses would not send out search warrants, which would complicate our final escape. We had to make it look like our parents had sent for us. Sherlock had already snuck into his father's study,and forged a letter, where his father was negotiating my adoption. We had decided that we were meant to be siblings..." she smiled fondly at the unconcious man.

"We would have succeeded, had not _Trahison _managed to fool the school principles into thinking that he WAS Sherlock's father, and managed to takes us away, in broad daylight. We then were imprisoned aboard _La Belle, _with a neccesary few of the League there ,to complete the plan of my father's betrayal and execution..."

Her eyes misted. "I cannot talk about this part in great detail. My father was killed. And Sherlock,...negotiated for me. Insulted _Trahison _on purpose, to direct his anger away from me. Sherlock called it his"Whipping Boy"tactic..." she lost her voice then...

"Sherlock is notorious for taking the Fall for his friends,.."John blurted, in a hoarse voice.

Claire's huge sapphire eyes turned on John, empathetically.

"Sherlock does whatever he feels we need him to do..."she said, slowly.

As if on cue, Sherlock gasped, and coughed,and whimpered, startling Molly into a giggle fit, as he woke up, trying to rip the oxygen tubes out of his nostrils,and having to be fought back into a lying-down position by John.


	5. Chapter 4 Awakening

**Chapter 4: Awakening~**

_"Alright, take it easy!" John's voice, sounding broken, the static of leaving Eternity cutting it out._

_"I told you, of course, he ALWAYS does!" ,says Molly..._

_Greg(or is it Gavin?) Lestrade...basically cheering, a little too loudly for a hospital room. Mycroft's parental tone congratulating him,_

_"Welcome back to the land of the living..."_

_Mrs. Hudson laughing (and crying) for joy. He'd probably given the poor old thing the shock of her life...again._

_And then ,then a voice, a lady's voice. The presence of frizzy ,ginger curls ,come close to his face. His bleary vision coming back..._

_"Bonjour, mon petit Leon!" _she laughs.

Sherlock tries to sit up again, only to be strong-armed down by John's as-loving-as-they-are-rough hands.

"Easy, Sherlock!" he gasps.

_Salvation bids me wake..._ says a voice somewhere inside of Sherlock's soul, _Oh, but _ _Eternity bids me come..._

_A man can change his destiny? This is a scientific phenomena. Yes, it would appear, that a man can change his destiny._

_Because I was on the edge of the Twilight. Because the Sea had called my name...And the River of God swelled about my feet...And I was gone forever..._

_But now you have need of me again...And so, now, though I long for Sleep, I will stay awake, an Hour more...I will turn away from the Water now..._

He gasps, as his eyes clear. John is holding him down. He meets his eyes, and the dying light inside him is fanned again to flame ,by the Light that John is to his darkness.

Now he can see his face quite clearly, and he feels himself panting, drawing in life, drawing in the hospital sounds, and gets the feel of all these tubes, and is thrown into a full-blown panic.

"OFF, GET THIS OFF OF ME!"

There is a terrifying commotion. Claire looks nervously to John, "What can I do; can I help?"

John springs forward,"Pull the sheet off of him..." he says , the only one truly calm in this situation, being ,after all, that he is the ex-army doctor.

The chief nurse of this ward comes in, with sedation needles, "I'm sorry ,sir, but I'm going to have to ask you to..." the nurse began saying to John.

"STAY BACK!" Sherlock hisses,voice more violent than in the very nastiest of his nasty moods.

In a calm voice Mycroft says, "I'm terribly sorry, madam. My brother is a recovering British agent, and a victim of brutal torment. It will be absolutely impossible to acclimate him to your hospital's protocol now that he is awake...Also, as he cleary has the physical capablity to thrash about like that, I suggest we take him out of all these contraptions. As a matter of fact, I insist on it. And Doctor Watson will do the necessary procedures."

The nurse has paled. It is unlikely in her career in a general hospital, that she has ever come across someone with a history like that of Sherlock Holmes. No, he hasn't done well in hospitals since his Hiatus, being that he was tormented in one for several months of that time.

John lays a hand on Sherlock's forehead, "Easy, I'll get you out of here."

Sherlock violently siezes John by his shirt,actually tearing it open some. "How'd you?You're supposed to be at home-safe!For God's sakes, how did you GET here?!"

John draws a patient breath, fully empathizing with episodes of PTSD, "We're actually in a general hospital in London...It's ok, you're ok now, yeah? Moriarty is still dead, his network's been dissolved for over a year now...Take a deep breath;you're alright..."

Sherlock does as he's told, reluctantly, but immediately starts panicing again when he sees who all else is in the room. "Oh God, this lot, too? How did he? "

Sherlock starts shrieking curses at Jim Moriarty and his hires, if they dare to lay a finger on any one of the people present here. The others have greyed in horror, but John ,in a barely -controlled voice says,

"Alright,stop!-stop it now, you'll hit your head hard enough to go right back down, and that's no good is it?! It's ok! Hey! It's ok...you're at the general hospital. You've not been captured; you drowned..."

Only Mycroft and John have ever seen such an episode of his trauma before. The others have no idea what to do, what to think. And Claire knows nothing about Moriarty or the Hiatus. She strong -arms Mycroft out of the room,and body slams him into the wall, knee in his stomach.

"Ooof, easy Pirate- Lady!" he groans.

"What's...what's the matter with him? What..." she's in tears..."What happened to him to make him like that?"

Mycroft swallows, "Well,...he certainly isn't the little boy you remember any more..."

"Sherlock..."John has calmed him down enough to sieze him by both sides of his face.

"You have to get them out, you have to get them out of here...John, I'll stay...They can't do much worse to me now...I'll stay..."

John smiles ,brokenly, knowing he means that ,honest to God. "Sherlock..." he begins slowly,

"You aren't in Moran's Torture Lab. You're in a general hospital in London. You were working on a jewel heist case, right? Then it went south...and they tried to drown you..."

Sherlock's eyes light up with recollection. John laughs near hysteria..."So ,see...all this thrashing is...silly. You're alright..."

Sherlock sits bolt upright,and throws his arms around John, clutching him protectively.

"So, you're all...safe?"

"Yes...we're alright...It's you-your the one they were trying to kill, just you, this time...Just about succeeded too, but I think you kicked the cement shoes off,and floated down-stream.I found you unconscious in the mud, and did what doctors do to keep you JUST unconcious, and then I helped them bring you here. Now ,would I do that if this was a torture lab?Would I do that to you?"

"No?..."

"Then you're being irrational...And you're shaking...And you are basically freaking- royally- out, none of which things are like you... AT ALL."

Sherlock laughs. Claire hears it, and lets Mycroft go, slowly walking back into the room, cautiously.

Now that he's awake, she's nervous...

"I...I scratched you..." Sherlock says, looking at the blood seeping up around the tears in John's shirt.

"You have a guest...That you have already managed to offend..."John teases, and Sherlock looks up.

Claire feels her breath catch...

"Sherlock..." she whispers...,stumbling forward.

"Claire..." he says...matter of factly. Immediately his eyes sweep her ,in rapid deduction.

" _Trahison _has found you..."

"Ah, yes Sherlock, you've been comatose,and having a panic attack, and STILL managed to do that magic trick of yours, in under 3 seconds..." she laughs, good-naturedly.

"Yes, _Trahison _has returned. Which is why I need the help of the world's only consulting detective..."

Sherlock perks up at the mention of a case, and tries to get up from his bed,

"When do we start?"

"Oi, you aren't trucking around London ,or doing any sleuthing, in a bloody hospital gown; our reputations are already tainted enough!" Greg gasps, utterly exasperated.

Mycroft calls for one of his people to bring Sherlock some clothes, and Molly pops up,

"You left your coat down in the lab; I'll go get it."

Molly's lab, the only safe lab anywhere, and the only one Sherlock has been able to go back into without one of these panics.

He takes her hand,and thanks her quietly.

Mrs. Hudson hands him coffee, "Good morning, dear, and here we are off to an,...interesting...start...aren't we?"

John laughs ,loud and scoffingly, at that...


	6. Chapter 5: The Appointed Time

**Chapter 5: The Appointed Time**

The world began to bleed back, like the veins of a prism ,letting go of Night's fear, in glorious release.

"Molly will be a while with getting your coat, and probably your On-the-Road chem kit. Bart's is on the opposite side of town, in case you're wondering where you are...Oh God, I suppose I should have them type me up a case file for this...let me know how it goes, John.."said Greg over his shoulder, and was out the door.

"I'd best be off home, too, get the place ready for you to come home and rest," Mrs. Hudson said ,hopefully.

Mycroft swallowed, " And I better prepare for the collapse of Western civilization, just in case _Trahison _gets the war I'm sure he wants..." he said and was off.

John looked up, and nodded, without uttering a sound. Fascinated with the beautiful woman that had so unexpectedly entered this nightmare scene, taking Sherlock by the hand.

"So, how well do you remember me?" Claire asked Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled, "Oh,it's been 23 years, 3 of which were sheer and utter hell, that I shall not go into in front of John..."

Claire looked at him,and he shrugged, "I still don't know what happened to him when he was gone..."

Claire looked back at Sherlock, who was still smiling, foxily,

"But I never did forget you. Nor why I named my "Assistant" Redbeard..."

"After my father..." said Claire, and her eyes misted again.

"He will not die in vain, Claire..." Sherlock said ,voice growing low as the growl of wolves in his throat.

"I have been watching from the shadows, all our lives...I was waiting for you ,Sherlock, waiting for you to grow up. I knew you would become very great one day, and that one day, I would need call on you again. Now comes the time to avenge Jean L'Eau...And how are you going to do it, Detective Holmes?"

Sherlock's eyes floated from Claire, to John.

"I will need to return to the scene of _Trahison's_ most recent crime...To the exact place where he cast me in the water..."

"It will be very dangerous...going back there..."John said, throat tight.

Rene entered the room then, followed by 5 others from Claire's crew...

"You won't be alone, "Captain L'Eau said with confidence, winking at Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled at the way John blushed when Claire smiled at him...


	7. Chapter 6: Keys to the Kingdom

**Chapter 6: Keys to the Kingdom~**

**Author's Note: I used Google translate for the French dialouge in this chapter. I don't know how accurate of a translator it is, so I apologise for the bad grammar ,if it is very far off.:)**

Sherlock stood on the banks of the Thames, there at the place where he sank into the Oblivion that is drowning. There was no shadow of trauma on his alabaster face, as he looked out over the ghostly water, waiting for him to appear.

Then out of the fog stepped _Trahison _himself, grinning like the very skull-face that waves, over the cursed boat of piracy, since the golden age of the Reign of Thieves.

Beside Sherlock ,one on his right hand, and one on his left, stands Captain John Watson(whom _Trahison _does not know, but is willing to find out more about),and Little Claire de l'Eau, Jean's feisty daughter.

"Oh England ,Lady of Kingdoms!" _Trahison _shouted to the twilight on the Thames. A few people were slowing down, looking over their shoulders, at this freak. Modern day mudlarks, wondering what junk the river had washed up now,

"How do you intend to atone for your sins, oh Mother of the Empires, Queen of the Isles?! Oh City of the British Race...how do you intend to cover your sins, when your dead men are walking? Twice you have cheated death, Sherlock Holmes...They say the third time's a charm..."

Sherlock smiled. "_Bonjour, Trahison. Je vois que ces annees n'ont pas fait de vous une moins stupide... A tout les moins ...ils n'ont pas vous rendre PLUS stupide. Le monde ne peut pas gerer une plus grande stupidite ...__que votre situation actuelle. Comment gerez-VOUS cela? Vous avez ma sympathie..."_

Claire started cracking up behind her hand. John leaned closer to her, "What...what did he just...say?"

Claire whispered, "He just offered pity for the stupidity of the Modern World's most notorious pirate?..."

John nodded, "Oh..." he said, and looked at his feet. "Yeah, ...yeah, leave it to Sherlock..."

_Trahison _smiled, cold as a fish's veins, "English, _s'il vous plait. _ We are ,after all, in your country..."

"Oh,and you want MY country to hear what you have to say? How you are going to betray them into the hands of tormentors, same as you did your own nation? You want THEM to know all about you, don't you? You want to be justified by THEM, do you? Well, take it from someone who knows, the press is no more than an old wolf, begging for bones. After these people devour you, -which they WILL- and chew apart the very fabric of what you hope to accomplish by FAME-" (this word is spat ,with venom that stings more fiercely than lightning), "They will only forget you for something...meatier...It is the nature of flesh to keep only for a day. These ..."people"... must have the blood NOW, whilst it's fresh..." Sherlock licks his teeth, indicatively."And so they will find it. Sniff it out. They are no more than dogs...I fear you cast your pearls before swine..."

_Trahison _smiled, and nodded, "Ah, I appreciate your concern. But I am a thief, Monsieur Holmes. The pearls I cast to the swine,...are not my pearls..." he smiles suddenly,almost perversely, at Claire.

She shrinks back against the natural protection that John emanates.

"It is not the people of this country I care to hear me...It is an audience of one I perform for...Mainly, John Watson."

"Me?!" John basically shouted, suprised senseless ,and infuriated, all at once.

"Yes, you. And the reason being this- Monsieur Holmes, I promised _La Fille de l'Eau _ to James Moriarty ,as his bride. I promised him a dowry ,of a great sum of stolen goods. I promised him a private yacht, one of my fleet, one I had stolen, as a seat to watch the world burn, once he had beaten you. I promised him all of this, to bring us all peace. Because he was so ...bored...he would have destroyed us all. He would have burned the world down, not just you...But at the same time, as you know, the man with the key, is the king of a world of closed doors...And seeing,as you brought my king...off of his thrown..."

_Trahison _smiled devilishly, and took a few steps closer. John protectively stepped in front of Claire, and closer to Sherlock, folding his arms.

"That leaves ME to claim the throne. But of course, I will need to deal with the usurper first...You must have the key. Everyone knows that he left the key with you. I had waited till you had taken the Web down. I am not part of any web, there was no need to entangle myself with that affair. Of course I had to wait...you are right, these people...they are wolves...They need fresh blood. But I.." he licked his lips, "I am a viper...I can build my nest in the ashen sack, left behind by your body,by your lungs that I will SCORCH from you. And when I have burned you, I can slither about,and warm myself in your ashes,...for the rest of my days...I can feed off of your damnation; I am a dragon, a serpent, that you unleashed, when you unlocked the doors of the Furnace..."

Sherlock smiled..."Oh, so this is a game where we are fighting over the key? A Jack-Be-Nimble-Jack-Be-Quick, Jack-Jumped-Over -the Candlestick sort of game, is it? You have to keep me on my toes, you have to see to it that while I'm jumping over little candle sticks, such as this last jewel heist, I fall into your fire...don't you?"

"Oh, you are clever,...Jean had reason to trust his daughter to you, even as a child. But you aren't a child now. Neither are you a god;did you think that you were? You are only a man...And by the end, you will know the sorrow of a god...your body will be made to face the tests of the gods...and find that you are only a man. A broken one ,at that. And then you will beg like a child, and die like a dog...And I will have solved the Final Problem, and will have taken your keys away...So I will be the master in the end..."

Sherlock threw back his head,and laughed in _Trahison'_s face.

"May I ask how you could find this so amusing?" the pirate asked, offended by the anti-climatic way that this encounter would end ,now, with Sherlock's chuckling,and actually, blueness of face, and snorting.

Even John, who was used to Sherlock's...well "Sherlock"ness...was a bit disturbed.

Sherlock wiped at his eyes. He'd laughed until he had cried.

"You think..." he laughed again, clutching his stomach, like he would throw up, "You think that you can be in CONTROL of all of this? Clearly, you were totally out of touch with the fantasy that was the Kingdom of the Consulting Criminal...No one that had half a brain, would entertain such foolish notions,as the idea that somehow you could INHERIT his kingdom...And no one with half-a-brain, would WANT that job...

Pain was his pleasure...Now you REALLY have my sympathy, for your stupidity..."

"You will learn to appreciate my valor, when I have you on your knees. And your Jester here is the one you should pity, and this Lady in Waiting...Because they are the audience of _Trahison._ There is no painful punsihment, no one to whom I could betray them, no horrible death I could plan for them, that will equal the PAIN of watching how I will BURN you. I will DESTROY you. I will drink your blood like wine, and I will savor it..."

Sherlock bowed, elegantly, "I see. The Game is afoot then."

_Trahison _strode forward,and extended a hand for them to shake on it;

"The Game is afoot ,Sherlock Holmes...I will see you on the field."

"I shan't disappoint you..."

"If you value their _lives_ you won't...I would make my peace with them if I were you...There is no hope for you..."

Sherlock smiled smugly, "Their safety is my peace. And not to worry, there never was much hope for me..."

He then turned his eyes towards heaven. John felt like his chest was pinned in a vice; he could NOT breathe,and his head had gone light. He absently heard Claire say Sherlock's name in a tiny-girlish voice.

"John, Claire,...we have business to attend to. Good day, _Trahison."_ Sherlock cried, dismissively waving his hand at the pirate.

And with that Sherlock Holmes turned on his heel,and left his Enemy standing at the scene of the intial crime.


	8. Chapter 7: The Third Time's a Charm?

**Chapter 7: The Third Times a Charm?~**

Claire whistled for her crew,and they came out of all corners of the wood-work, where they had been hiding ,weapon's concealed, in case _Trahison _tried anything.

They all came swaggering, with permanent sea-legs, and hard expressions, assembling themselves in a silent ,awe-inspiring posse ,around _La Fille de L'Eau,_ their dearly -departed Captain's, beloved little daughter...

"Sherlock...what was that about?" Claire asked, voice trembling, like a mountain, that was about to weep fire.

Sherlock had his hands thrust down in his pockets, and a lightness in his step, that reminded one of a school-boy on holiday. Something about this infuriated John. He was trying to keep his cool,in front of the lady(who's bright ginger hair was becoming a bit distracting...,he was also trying not to flirt with Sherlock's childhood bff...which was becoming increasingly harder...)

" You saw it...the way he was fingering a rectangle shape in his left pocket, the bit of ink from a busted pen on his fingers, the slight hint of chalk dust on his chin. Our _Trahison _is not as stupid as he appears. He's actually a professor of the arts..or ,he was, before he became inclined to piracy,and became the personal assistant of _Monsieur-Captain Jean de L'Eau _,the modern world's most renowed smuggler. Anything from drugs, to sport's cars...Jean was good..."

"Not something I'm particulary proud of," Claire put in, "But I did learn a few of his tricks. Only I use his powers for good, smuggling would- be slaves out of the trade, and agents of justice,and their neccesary effects, into situations impossible for them, but not impossible for _La Fille de L'Eau, _to enter unobserved_. _ _Trahison_ ,however,... he uses his gifts for evil..."

"And for smuggling things of astronomical or priceless worth," Sherlock cut in, finishing her sentence for her, " The rectangular shape in his pocket was just the size of a museum pass; the busted pen- the ink was the same shade as the clerk's favorite choice of pen at the service desk at the British Museum, -just the right ,almost police-box, sort of blue-it also has a significant scent- sort of like roses and banana pudding- And the chalk, the shape of the smudge was the same shape as the crease button's make of the top of his sleeve's cuff, suggesting that he brushed his chin while he was _raising _his hand, which suggests he was drawing up a diagram of a master heist for someone in his employ,and therefore had to stretch his hand rather high up the board. "Seems a bit of a stretch ,Sherlock, no pun intended. How could you POSSIBLY have gathered that from a chalk smudge of that particular shape, Sherlock?-a steep accusation, now you're being absurd!"- No,actually, he also had a few algebraic figures,and gang code words, translated into Latin, in faint traces of chalk on the right pocket of his trousers, which were an unfortunate shade of navy blue, same as the new uniforms that employees of the Museum wear. The smudges were on his chin ,and his trousers, but not on his upper dress, which suggests that he changed shirts, upon exiting the building. From a back door, as suggested by the particular kind of dirt smudge faintly located on his right foot's shoe-lace. All of this is more than enough of a lead-well,for me- to go on, but also he practically GIFT-WRAPPED the key to our puzzle for us, when he suggested that I thought I was a god. He's going to try to pilfer the fancy new exhibit of Greek myth statues from the British Museum! "

He practically clicked his heels, and whipped his mobile out of his pocket, to call out Lestrade's team to stop the heist. While he was waiting for it to finish ringing , he went on talking,

"Of course he won't be there himself...-the boss never does the field work- but it brings us one step closer if we bring his boys in-LESTRADE! Right,Oh I'm well thank you, just had a chat with _Trahison, _and he told me-well he didn't tell me ,you know how these things work,-that he's sent his hires for a heist of those new statues at the British museum...What?!-of course I'll be at the scene-still under the weather?!-RUBBISH _GAVIN _, I AM HIGHLY FUNCTIONING..."

Blah blah blah. John had completely lost him. Was absorbed in the absolute look of wonder on Claire's face.

"Good ,isn't he?" he asked, with boyish delight.

Claire smiled, to John's wonderment, nearly in tears.

"Oh, he's ...he's absolutely amazing!" she swallowed a lump in her throat, "Sorry, I just...I've missed him SO much..."

"I know the feeling..."

"Oh, but don't you..."Claire muttered, and then, swallowing, she said:

"I have ...matters...I must discuss with my crew, Doctor..."

And she left him standing there in the chill of the wind, watching Sherlock...

And suddenly, all the feelings came back, came far too close to home...

"And don't let that silly what's-her-name, the new coffee girl?-right, Erika, don't let her tramp the possible chalk dust around in those ridiculous heels; she was cleary vying for Anderson's attention-too bad for her he's still been sneaking kisses with Donovan...what, that's a bit not good ...to..to say? Well, I said it to YOU ,not them, and you already know about it anyway, so what difference?..."

His voice trailed away into an echo at the back of John's throbbing heart.

He didn't even hear the end of the conversation,the silent rage at his non-chalance, and the _pain _, blurring into a hurricane in his mind.

"Alright, well the Game is afoot officially now!" Sherlock gasped,spinning around to face him, joy bursting like a rocket over his face.

And John slammed both palms into his shoulders,and slammed his back into a nearby stack of crates.

"WhatinthenameoftheholyandmercifulGodareyou?!" Sherlock began,before John put a hand over his mouth.

"You..did you even hear..what that...what that maniac?!-"John drew a heavy breath,and blew out his nostrils, breath so hot Sherlock was certain he had exhaled dragon-fire.

"John, really, it's-"

"Third time's a CHARM?! Sherlock, you already have two strikes!"

"Well ,more than that...really but..."

"MORE THAN THAT doesn't help your argument!-Sherlock!..."John was so angry and upset that he couldn't even swear, although the army had furnished him with an entire secondary vocabulary of vulgar words.

Sherlock swallowed, brows furrowing, like they only did when he really was bothered by something, but was trying to make it look like he wasn't.

He suddenly wrapped long ,pale fingers around either side of John's golden head, and pressed their brows together,

"This isn't about what he said; you've let this build..."

John drew a shaky breath. The moments he was this tender were rare and beautiful,and littered John's memory, like portraits of their life. He drew a shaky breath, already somewhat calmed.

"They were just about to pull your plug when she walked in. You were GOING to DIE."

"But GOING to, and ACTUALLY DID, are two diffrent things...And as you know "things" have a way of working themselves out..."

He affectionately ruffled John's hair under his firmly gripping fingers.

"Besides that saying is extremely cliched, don't you think? Third time's a charm?; it's like applying the rules of baseball to the Governor of the Universe! We can't possibly know when our times will come, but we can live our lives to our fullest potential until they do. Which is exactly what I mean to do, and ,for your sake, I will be especially careful as I do it...I -I understand,John, you've really been through enough, and deserved a break from all of this. I know I am-myself-but I really do...understand...and...And it's..I mean...It's alright, now, I'm not really even all that tired..."

Which by way of pointing out, meant that he _was_ ,actually. Oh, Sherlock...

John laughed, and his shaky breath wafted into Sherlock's face,and Sherlock was certain now that he had inhaled dragon fire. But John's face spread into a smile, Sherlock could feel his muscels tighten under his fingers.

"You will be EXTREMELY careful, and I'm coming with you."

"Of course!"

They broke away chuckling softly,and Sherlock clapped a hand on John's shoulder,

"Come on now, we'd better get there before Anita the Coffee Girl tramps those ridiculous heels all over my crime scene..."

"_Erika,_-we...we have so much work to do on your people skills, on your skill with names...You can remember like-,46, is it?, different kinds of tobacco ash, but can't even..."

"Oh, here you go again!"

And the two bickered their way back to the street,John momentarily forgetting that uneasy feeling ,riding like sea foam in his bones...


	9. Chapter 8: Fate's Design

**Chapter 8: The Fate's Design~**

Sherlock practically swooped down,and landed in the soon-to-be crime scene, with his coat dramatically spreading like raven-wings behind him. His words snapped and rumbled like a lighting surge ,and thunder,and whipped the boys into action, like molecules of water , in the wake of a northern Storm.

"Ok, so ladies and gentlemen,this is a crime scene that has not yet BECOME a crime scene, so I want you to treat it as such. And break out the tape, -there's a good little bobby! Now ,what are we missing here? Right, criminals and a few more police-men! Oh, I hear the tramp of boots, and the wail of sirens now, shall I just wait here?"

He sat down at the feet of the statue of Zeus, and it seemed ,with all his darkness, that they saw Poseidon come up from the sea, and it troubled John deep in his heart.

_Trahison's _thugs did not act suprised to see Sherlock,and ,likewise, he was not suprised to see them.

"The Boss said you'd be coming round." said a sawed-off red head, with a thick Irish accent.

"Oh, right,you're a ginger. So is the Lord of the Manor trying out that Red -Headed Sparticus thing again? BORING..."

And then a flurry of action happened all at once. Sherlock started to bicker with the criminals,( there were 7 in all). Lestrade came in and arrested them.

There in front of all the tourists, and the spectators, the cold-faced gods ,and the wide-eyed men, the Red-Headed League confessed to everything.

"We won't object to arrest anyway, Mr. Holmes. There comes a time to die, and we need pay some penance for all the wicked things we've done...It's your own skin I'd be worried about, as the Boss- man arranged all of this, with the _intent_ that we'd be caught. With the intent ,namely, that we'd be caught by _you._ So that we could make you an offer that you can't refuse..."

"Oh, I'm flattered, but you know I am a _consulting _detective. You could have just rung my door-bell?"

"This way's splashier. A public invitation, to a private execution."

"Oh, so he only means to kill me? Guts, not glory ,then. Why now, why let me live all these years,and especially since Moriarty's grand demise? Oh, but that's really not what this is about, is it? Not entirely..."

"You KNOW what this is about, Mr. Holmes, and don't pretend not to!" said a taller, almost eel- like brute, in a voice that even scowled, and had an English lit to it.

He took three great marching steps forward,and handed Sherlock a piece of paper ,with one great black spot burned into it.

Sherlock took it, brows curling up to the top of his head. This meant death of the darkest form, and Sherlock scoffed in it's face...

"Ohhhh," he whispered,and John's blood went chill. Never knowing what is really going on in the life (and possibly impending death) of your best friend is very draining to the spirit. He felt as if he was watching this on the silver screen, a horror- movie he could shout at, scream till blood came out his ears, but never intervene in.

"Oh, I see, every DOG must have his day...Right, I remember _Trahison's _lesson now..."

"We will begin a new Golden Age of Piracy ,Mr. Holmes. We will bring the world down, by torrents of blood, and a snow-fall of flakes of precious metals...The End of the Electronic Empire, and the beginning of the Dark."

"So, he doesn't want the Code to reap it's benefits, he wants the Code to wipe the slates clean. Delete all the digital money..."

Sherlock smiles,an almost wicked smile, "Novel idea, really. Romantic. The thought that Pirates could rule the world again...But, unfortunate for you, we are no longer compatible with this world. Not you. Not me..Not _Trahison._ Even Jean de L'Eau knew his days were coming to an end..."

"Oh, we know." the little Irish man laughed, with a grim smile. "But ,seeing as it has to end, we'd like to make it a FAIRYTALE ending, eh,Mr. Holmes? A STORYBOOK ending."

Sherlock's lips parted,and his face went pale,as if ,just for a moment, he was truly disturbed. John ducked under the tape,and came and stood at his side.

"Ohohoh, who's this?" laughed one of the criminals.

"Could be your worst nightmare!" John quipped.

"Is this your Lancelot then?" one of them jeered.

Sherlock stood slowly up,and ,as if turned to a pillar of ice, his very countenance became arctic.

"Take them out of here, and lock them in the deepest ,grime- hole you can find!" he gasped, and stormed out ,such as he had stormed in.

Lestrade handed them over to Donovan, and the scene was cleared, the spectators diverted, and the drama lights began to dim.

John stood staring in the direction that Sherlock had gone, feeling utterly empty. Greg came sliding up to him, almost imperceptibly, and said in a low ,hoarse voice:

"So, what was all THAT about?"

"I have no idea..."

Silence prevaded, deep and dark as the sea, until Greg ,very softly said:

"Do you ever feel...like it were designed by Fate...that we lose him much too early?"

John closed his eyes against the idea, and felt a globe- sized knot roll through his throat and down his chest.

"Sometimes...I can't sleep at night...because of that..." he admitted.

"It haunts me...it hurts me... more than every scrap of shrapnel, and schizophrenic bullet in Afghanistan ever could..." he cleared his throat, and twitched his fingers, trying not to shed any tears over the subject but...

Greg drew closer...and the trouble was visibly etched in his brow.

"How ...could we...LOSE him? How could we do it?"

John turned to him, eyes glittering like stars on the other side of the Galaxy, cold and far away.

"Once...we had to ,...remember?...And last time..." he gasped. "Last time we couldn't-" he was chewing his lip now,and Greg reached and took him by the shoulders.

"Maybe...fate can be changed.?.." he said, with a broken smile.

John smiled back, and swallowed, "I...I'm going to go...see after him."

"Yeah, find out what the devil happened here today, and call me..."

John left the museum ,just as the sun was going down. There ,in the last blaze, he caught a glimpse of Sherlock Holmes standing like an eclipse of darkness, against the radiance of the Sun.

As if he were born to fall...

But then , spying John from out of the crowd of people, he looked up,and smiled his way, a child-like smile that invites one to it .

Strange paradox of a man,was he. A manner of man that drew you in,and shut you out, all at once.

And John could NOT imagine life without him...


	10. Chapter 9: The Day That Destiny Calls

**Chapter 9: The Day That Destiny Calls~**

John took ten steps before he saw the agony on Sherlock's face, as he found a bench to take seat at, and sat there watching,waiting ,expecting him to join him.

Now John knew.

With a huff, like smoke floating out of a chimney, he sighed ,feeling like he was surrendering his soul. He came and sat with Sherlock,who's hands clenched beneath his chin,and he stared into the empty darkness of his past, as if looking for the stars in the Abyss, to light the pages of his mind, and give him words.

"John..." he said, and his voice was faint now,and far away, as if speaking out of the Chasm of Infinite Night, to which he must needs soon return.

"I'm here..." came the equally faint response. A promise...

"What I said to you, only a little while ago...I meant it..."

"I know..."

"But there comes a time to give an accounting for the things one has done..., just like that one man said, you heard him?"

"I did..."John whispered.

Sherlock swallowed, "I...have kept some things a secret from you...for your own protection. Dishonest? Yes, perhaps...But, I felt it was better to tell you nothing at all, than to tell you a lie."

John nodded, "I know...you would never lie to me...I have no doubt..."

Sherlock smiled, sadly, "You have faith in me?"

"The utmost!" John was near tears.

Sherlock nodded, "John, when I was away, the first time...it was to keep you safe."

John nodded, breath catching, "I know, I guessed as much...after I was done being angry. You always...have a reason..."

Sherlock looked at him now, eyes twisting in on themselves, trying to conceal their pain.

"I...made a deal with the Devil a long time ago, to guarantee Claire's safety. "Every dog must have his day"? It was how I passed off the Whipping Boy tactic, - I'm sure Claire probably already has told you about it, she never did stop talking about it-but...I was made to make my own black spot, out of blood drawn from my right arm's vein."

He holds up the piece of paper he was handed now, and John could see that it was not black, but crimson.

"I could walk on eggs shells,and wear bubble wrap, and _would _ if it would give you peace of mind...I could live my life to the uttermost, just as I said, circle the world 70 times 7 times a week, and solve every crime in it, past ,present and future...But no amount of care, and no amount of _living_ can stop the day that Destiny calls. Only the One that Designed the Universe... can change said design..."

He swallowed then, and took both of John's hands in his own, and clung to them for the dear life of which he spoke.

"I made the Black Spot for myself, an oath that when the League came for me, I would answer their call,and face their test, what ever that may be. I was promised seven souls, in exchange for mine. I had only chosen the one back then, -Claire-(and they counted Redbeard too, as I begged them not to kill him either) which gives me five more to chose,and I already know who they will be. Who's at the top of that list..."

John nodded, understanding in full. Sherlock clung to his hands harder yet...

"I have made you a promise, and I will keep it...But, unless I can cheat the Devil ,one more time..." he smiled, face flickering like the shadows that dance off a fire's glare. And then he swallowed, taking a measured breath.

"John...I think...I'm going to die."

Now that it was said, it could never be unsaid. John's heart would never stop breaking from it, it would be like forever watching a chandalier shattering it's lights on replay, darkness and sparks,and crystal confetti, sucked backwards by an unexpected vacuum, only to be done again. Sherlock chewed the inside of his lip. This had been so much easier to say to Molly Hooper, for some reason. But maybe that's because she wasn't direcly threatened last time. Maybe, it was because he hadn't had to look her in the eyes, and tell her that he was dying,and it was only because he was trying to save her.

There were five more people that he would have to break this news to, before the sun went down. Claire, Greg, Mycroft , Mrs. Hudson, and Molly...

He had no idea how.

But if he could tell John...who , being so unfairly strong himself, was the very hardest person to admit any weakness to -at all...If he could break before John, he could do anything.

Sherlock was suprised when John smiled, a calm, but broken smile,and reached and clapped both his hands on his shoulders.

"Ok..." he swallowed, closed his eyes, counted the beats of his heart, trying to find the words.

"Ok, so yeah,this is _really _happening now, and we can't stop it..." he nodded, trying to force himself to breathe.

"But this time you've told me...and now you're going to allow me to help. That's not a question, because I'm not giving you a choice. If I have to lose you..if you have to die for me...then at _least_ let me lay the sacrifice on the altar myself." he almost choked out the last words,and his eyelids fluttered.

Sherlock drew a shaky breath,and nodded, and his lips formed an inaudible "Ok".

John nodded, ready to pass out. "So...what do we need to do?"

"If one is to dance with the Devil-then it has to be in his own ballroom. We'll need to arrange with Captain De'Leau for private water transportation...And with Mycroft...we need to plan this out with him too...The secret services have been monitoring _Trahison_ for years...but I never told them this detail...Thought it was too much of a risk to Mycroft's security..."

John nodded again, "Well, I guess that means that the Game's afoot?"

Sherlock stood up ,slowly, helping John to his feet. "Ah..right, it is..isn't it?"

"There's something else..."

"What? No, I think that's it..."

"No,Sherlock, there's one more thing you want to say.I can see it in your eyes...And you might as well say it to me, now, or you'll never get to say it at all, and you and I both know what that will do to a man..."

Sherlock laughed bitterly, knowing indeed..

"John..."

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to die..."


	11. Chapter 10: My Hour is Come

**Chapter 10: My Hour Has Come~**

He stood in front of them on the deck of _La Belle, _one pale hand clasping the other pale wrist, as if searching for a pulse in his cold frame.

And ,as he watched him, John felt his breath cipehened out of him, as if his nostrils were the doorways to worm-holes in space, spirit spinning off into Oblivion in the wake of what they must face.

They had contacted Mycroft, and arranged this meeting with Captain DeL'Eau and the crew of _La Belle, _only within the hour.

Molly Hooper stood here too, holding his coat, the collar pressed against her lips to hide her urge for tears.

Mrs. Hudson was here now too, hands twisted in his scarf. He had left it at home, on the setee, -had been torn away for the case that had nearly ended his life so abruptly.

The case that most likely would end his life now...

Greg Lestrade stood here, and his face looked as if it was chiseled stone. Beside him stood Claire DeL'Eau ,and she was trying to breathe through her tears, and not openly sob.

John sort of stood off to the side, clutching the rail, afraid he would fall off into the sea. He was part of the small party that would accompany Sherlock to whatever end. Some of these standing here were parting ways with him,and possibly for the last time.

Mycroft stood some what before every one else, leaning on his umbrella ,as if it were a life-line. As if the loss of his younger brother would break his heart open ,like the floods within the earth, and the world would weep ,like Noah's rain, from now until the end of time.

"Clarify this...You did not tell me that this threat was made against your life ,many years ago, because it threatened my security?"

The Elder Holmes' face was like the ice in a long-dead star. But his eyes burned, like the despair of meteors on their way down. ...

For now so much of Sherlock's attitude towards him was made infinitely more clear.

Didn't want him to meddle, because meddling brought danger to him.

Sherlock breathed a mute sigh,

"Yes. The bargain was made very specific. To violate it would have brought certain assassination for you, and would have likewise compromised the security of individuals responsible for the safety and well-being of the United Kingdom."

Mycroft nodded ,gravely,

"And now...you must fulfill this bargain, or the threats he made against me, and my superiors, are certain to be carried out?"

Sherlock swallowed, "The only way to trap him, where he can be taken into custody, is to play his game, unfortunately. I had a similar tactic when dealing with James Moriarty, if you recall, brother mine."

Mycroft smiled, a truly-broken smile,

"That was fairly recent, Sherlock. I am not a man to forget..."

Thunder rolled like the sorrow within Mycroft Holmes, in the distance.

But even the horizon felt very near, compared to the distance opening in John Watson's heart...

* * *

Molly gasped, and Sherlock met her gaze, always devoting his full,( and impressive capability thereof) attention to anything she had to say.

"Last time...other people, not just Mycroft,...would have been killed...if you didn't...uhmm...play the game..."

Sherlock shuddered. The pain in her eyes was impossible. How could he look at her, now, after all she had done for him, and tell her that it had been for nothing? That this time she could not help, that this time she must stand aside ,and watch,and do nothing?

"When the bargain was made...I was promised the safety of 7 souls ,in exchange for mine...2 of those, Claire being one of these, have already been determined...leaving 5 more. The 5 that I have determined shall be the ones chosen, so as to avoid collateral damage as much as possible..."Sherlock swallowed...

Molly's eyes hurt far too much to look into, but he could not look away. He needed Molly's patient understanding, needed to be able to look into her breaking heart, because if he looked aside to Mrs. Hudson, he would start crying and he couldn't break face. If he looked at Greg, he would begin to apologize profusely,and he could not appear a failure now. If he looked at Mycroft ,he would then have his doubts, of whether or no he did the right thing in dying, and he knew beyond shadow of said doubts that there was no other way...

If he looked at Claire, he would want to go to her,and reassure her that none of this was her fault...And if he looked at John...

If he looked at John, it would kill him, prematurely.

He was only capable of looking into that man's eyes,and telling him he was going to die for him, _once_. That once had been enough to bring him to his knees, and now, he was a very broken man...

And so he looked to Molly, because she had always counted, because she had always understood. Because he had never deserved Molly Hooper, but in the end, she was his friend.

"-Are standing here on deck...the audience of my last documented words..."

John closed his eyes,and felt the world spinning like a carousel ,on its way to the Abyss.

Molly sobbed,and Sherlock execrised the fist of Heracle within himself, to keep his facial muscels from twitching more than the tiny twinge they did.

"And seeing as this will ,most likely, be the very last time we shall ever speak, I have some very important things I need to say to all of you..."

He drew a heavy breath,and pulled a note out of his blazer.

He had prepared for this, they realized ,with a shock. He looked down at his notes,and then, forced himself to look at each one in his or her turn.

"Claire: You knew this day was coming, and it is NOT your fault. So ,do not feel sorry, for me or for yourself. This is what families do..."he smiled at her, but his smile was floundering, like a fish afflicted by the sand.

"Lestrade: You were paramount in the development of my career, and gave me a chance to prove it could be beneficial to the world, and you had the patience to see it through to its maturity. I have the utmost respect for you-for this reason- if not for your broad-spoken work as a detective. And I .." he looked at him then, and the man was nearly sawing his lips in half with his teeth, or so it would seem. Sherlock nodded,swallowing the stone of his soul,

"I thank you..."

There was a muttered "your welcome"and after a pleading sort of look Greg's direction, Sherlock went back to consulting the notes,

"Mrs. Hudson:..."

"Oh, dear..."she gasped, covering her mouth with the scarf,and nodding wildly,as if to say she was listening.

"I was a very lost and lonely soul when I found you, or should I rather say that you found _me_...You gave me a home. And when I was away the first time, I carried that home with me, like a safe-house inside...and..."He swallowed, and smiled at her, trying to master the tears that she caused,when he looked up at her,

"And I thank you..."

She laughed, and then cried, and nodded,as if to say he was most welcome.

"Molly:..."

She swallowed a cry,and chewed her lip, fingers lacing together ,and wrists locking, making her hands one great fist. He swallowed,and looked up at her:

"You...of all the people I have ever met, have been..." he was losing composure now,

"You have always _counted, _my dear girl, and never forget it. You have always _mattered_. It was your patience, your compassion, your willingness to work with me...your generosity. You saw the man within the machine of my work, and you were a companion for that man ,whilst he worked, sometimes into the wee hours of the morning, in the lonesome morgue of St. Bart's hospital. And if a man of my nature can look down the list of his friends, and find your name on said list, then I will have to say that I lived a good life ,after all..."

She smiled, and said his name inaudibly, bowing her head to hide her tears. Sherlock was crying now too, the tears shining in the sunset, but he had two more people to speak to, and he couldn't stop now...

"Mycroft:"

The Elder Holmes looked up from his feet,and Sherlock met his gaze, unwavering even for his tears. They had a way of steadying each other, two minds of utmost rationale, empowering one mutual genius.

"I have always, in all honesty, looked up to you...All my life, I had hoped to become half the man you are...despite the things I may have said to you.I am not half such a man, and my life is over now, but I consider it the highest honor my country ,my career, -God above!- could give me, for you to be amongst the list of names for whom I now die."

Mycroft stood transfixed, unable to speak, unable to weep. Just blinking like a creature of the night, stepped out into the sun. Sherlock swallowed a moan,and clenched his teeth,as if preparing himself for the impact of some tidal wave of blackness none but him could see.

"John:..."

At the sound of his name,the man looked up. Couldn't resist the urge, no matter how badly he wished to...

Sherlock wasn't looking at his notes for him...

"I didn't write a note for you ,for two reasons. One is that I have already subjected you to such a note, and I will NEVER do so again."

John nodded, holding his breath.

"And the other is because I..."there was a long silence,as Sherlock stood, almost hyperventilating, trying to compose his breath, eyes wide. He nodded, as if to say he wasn't done,and they let him master himself.

"I have...no words...for you..." his voice dropped an octave,and John swallowed, wondering what this could mean...

"You are the man that came into my life,and saved me, when I hadn't the faintest idea that I needed salvation. And I certainly did not deserve to be saved...And I do not deserve the honor of dying for you, either. I consider it a privilege- the highest privilege,and when I am gone-for most likely I shall go,and soon, I don't want you to grieve for me...

You,however ,John Watson, you DO deserve... to be saved. And if I can give that to you...another chance at life-so help me God- I will..."

He surrendered his note,and his soul,to the sea.

"This ship leaves for a voyage to _Trahison_'s watery battlefield. To the open sea, a one way road to the Abyss...My hour is come,and the Abyss has opened her arms for me. And I have no regret,for I feel I was drawn from Darkness,and to Darkness I return.

Go in peace, my friends. And if the world asks you if you knew,and remember, one Sherlock Holmes,tell them ,please, tell them that you did. That he was the least of all men that ever you met,gifted with gifts that were beyond his need, and that you were most gracious to him...Tell them, if you will, that I was the Brilliant Beggar, and all of you were Blind Kings and Queens...

And now, for some of us, I suppose, this is goodbye..."

He nodded,and silence prevaded the deck.

Then Molly came,and put his coat on him,and buttoned it,and he bent and kissed her cheek, like he'd been known to do,and she hugged him feverishly, for the first and last time. And then with a tiny wave,she left.

Mrs. Hudson came,and wrapped his scarf around him,and he kissed her forehead,and offered her a tiny smile.

"Bye-bye dear..." she whispered,caressing his face,and going after Molly.

Wordlessly ,Greg came and shook his hand.

And last of all was Mycroft, for he couldn't come with them, his security in jeopardy just by this conversation,

And he couldn't speak to tell him,that the loss of him was breaking his heart.

So ,instead, he embraced him,hard enough to nearly crack his bones,and looking in his eyes one final time, eyes as wide as the oceans, he took his face gently in both hands.

And then he turned, cold as ice to the core,and slowly drifted away.

Sherlock looked over at John, who hadn't moved, hadn't stopped staring ,since he'd been addressed.

And then slowly, Sherlock turned away, walking to the prow,and leaning over it,staring blankly into the sea, awaiting the start of the voyage that lead to a fairly certain death.

But Destiny can be changed...


	12. Chapter 11: Deep Calls to Deep

**Chapter 11: Deep Calls to Deep~**

**Author's Note: (Music inspires my writing. I was listening to "River of Tears"(No Voice)by Brunuhville when I wrote this)**

The sun was rising into the sky ,like the Phoenix waking from his long soul -sleep, ready for the hour of fate.

The two ships were headed straight for one another, like eagles meeting in the cerulean sky. Their sky was the ocean, their wind was that of fate, of two opponents finally laying their wars to rest.

On the prow of the one stood _Trahison, _and his silver hair blew in the wind, and over clothes that were modern in make, he wore a coat of gold-gilded mail,and he had a brass trident in his hands, upon which he leaned heavily.

And on the prow of the other, dark coat trailing behind him, like smoke from Armageddon's last pyre, stood Sherlock Holmes, and he breathed the ice-cold wind measuredly, his mind well made up, ready to die this day.

The ships came to a stand still in the sea.

"So you come to accept my invitation?"

Sherlock smiled ,and the wind grew colder yet. The sea was stirred up like one does a bowl of lotion,and had an aury grey look about it, as if somewhere the bones of the earth quivered at the thought of how sick the Universe was about to become.

John stood behind Sherlock a few feet,like the reverse of shadow, a pale light encapsulating him, and his face looked made of stone. _Trahison _smiled, because he knew who he had truly wanted to be the witness of this terrible day.

This man his opposite; his equal force. The man that had come to be called, in certain circles, during the Hiatus, Holmes' "_Polaris"._

The English soldier. The one man ,out of millions, who could truly capture the soul of one brilliant and dark Sherlock Holmes. So ordinary,... extraordinarily so.

If Jim Moriarty had found an arch-nemesis in Sherlock Holmes, it had been because they were exactly the same, but operated on polar opposites of the law.

The man that _Trahison _had chosen ,out of scores of men he'd crossed, to be his arch-nemesis, was in someways just like himself. Standing in the shadow of an extraordinary man. Extreme in his principle. Stronger than iron, and the ice in the earth.

The man his arch-enemy, was ,in the end, NOT Sherlock Holmes.

It was Dr. John Watson. And he relished in the fact that the man who had saved Sherlock would now watch his terrible fate sealed. He would destroy him in silence, and the doctor must know this. Certainly he must know that _he _was his true enemy, that Sherlock was only the scapegoat.

John did know. And smiled bitterly, as if to say, that even now the great _Trahison, _Last King of the Sea, had not won.

Sherlock's voice, deep as the ocean that rolled forever about them, spoke then,and stirred _Trahison _from his fantasy.

"What was it that you told me once? Every dog must have his day..."

_Trahison _laughed, "Ah, so finally,we agree. And so you have come to give me your life, and thus settle the debt that you made many years ago, in the name of _La Fille de L'Eau."_

She stood with her ginger head bowed, hands folded as if bound with chains, stood as if condemned to die, as if somehow the sins of her father were her fault.

"No." was Sherlock's simple reply.

"Oh? There can be no further negotiation. Either you face my test, or they die."

Sherlock laughed, and the sky opened above him,and suddenly he was standing bathed in brilliant light, as if the God of destiny was smiling.

"No, I'm not giving YOU my life. My life was never yours to decide how it should end. And here I thought you were a man with _some _level of intelligence."

Sherlock spread his arms out then, just as he had done when he fell from St. Bart's rooftop, and as if he were embracing the sea.

"You were right ,however, when you said, that this day comes for all of us. But if I am giving my life, then it is NOT ,nor will it ever be, to you. Rather, it is given for those I count worthy of such a payement.

The lives that I claim, in addition to _La Fille de L'Eau, _and my dog, that you poisoned and counted on said list, would be the lives of John Watson..."

John swallowed heavily, noticing that he said his name _first, _as if he could not go through with it ,until he was certain that his life would be spared. He barely heard him say the other names.

-"And know this , _Trahison. _You know it already. You never made the same foolish mistake as James Moriarty did. If I keep my end of the bargain, and die after the fashion you chose, and you do NOT spare the lives that I have named..." he drew up then, and it looked like he was twice as big, wreathed in his abysmal darkness, and that long wind-swept coat.

"Know that ,although I may be on the side of the angels, I am not, nor shall I ever be, one of them. You will make good on your word, or I will follow you throughout Eternity ,down every corridor of Hell, and you will beg the devil for the reprieve of his Damnation, in the wake of the haunting I shall give you. If you are skeptical about this, trust me when I say, I will make you a believer in impossible things..."

_Trahison _smiled at John,and nodded.

"Certainly, young master Holmes. Certainly. My reward shall be watching you die by the mighty hand of science."

And then he nodded to a deck-hand,to unveil a machine he had been smuggling.

"Not all of my endeavours were in the name of trade. One yielded me the prize of a machine, robbed from the cradle of science-yet-to-be. Behold the POSEIDON 1 , that machine generated to draw storm activity to itself, within a hundred miles of its radius. Meant to save the lives of sailors, but I have weaponized it. And now I shall bury you with it."

Sherlock nodded ,calmly,

"Very well then, send the rain."

* * *

He turned to Claire, "I shall require one of your long-boats..."

Claire smiled, "No..."

"No? You heard him..."

"I did. We stay."

"Claire..."

She smiled, "We stay..."

Sherlock gave John a pleading look. He just shrugged his shoulders, not making any signs of going anywhere.

"We're not leaving you, so don't try to negotiate with us..."

"But...this ,this was my bargain, to keep you all alive. What is the point of it , if you stay?"

"The point, Sherlock, is sacrifice. And you're not the only one willing or able to do that."

Sherlock walked very slowly to John, eyes suddenly as dark that Darkness in his soul.

"Do I have to leap into the sea,to make you all see it? You can't stay. You have so much to do, to be...

You were meant to live...to have a future."

John clapped both hands on his shoulders,

"What about you, hmm? What happened to your future?"

Sherlock's face went blank,as if suddenly he no longer understood plain English.

Silence followed, but John never broke eye contact with him.

"You leap into the water;I'm comin' in after you..."

Claire nodded, "We stay..."

Sherlock twisted his eyebrows at John,as if he'd stabbed him, simply not getting it, always hating not knowing, but now especially it hurt.

"We take our chances together, or not at all...I'm not going anywhere." he smiled then, and Sherlock nodded,and gave his shoulders a firm, desperate grasp, looking to heaven as storm clouds began to gather from the Four Winds above them.


	13. Chapter 12: Pleading With Sirens

**Chapter 12: Pleading With Sirens~**

The clouds drew like curtains over the end of a play. And rain began to bleed from heaven, black and heavy, like ink weeping from Shakespear's pen.

Claire was at the wheel, steering the boat long after the engine died. Ginger- hair snapped in the wind like lighting frozen in amber,and her eyes flashed against the sea, warning the sea witch that she was still captain of _La Belle, _and that she could be its name- sake.

Rene in command , the rest of the crew was sent to pump the water out of the brig area. Rene shrieked a curse into the wind ,looking out across the water,through that robin's egg blue and similarly tiny window in the Abyss, that showed where _Trahison _floated placidly on the waves , like a yacht on holiday.

Those caught in the chaotic , machine-generated storm did not realize that Mycroft's people were ,at the present, intercepting _Trahison _and what remained of his League , nor did they know that he would be executed ,within the hour ,for crimes of high treason,and extreme offences against humanity.

POSEIDON 1 was still wreaking his fury, and no amount of money ,nor loyalty to the Crown, could buy the knowledge it would take to disable it. The machine would have to run itself to death.

With the crew bailing, and Claire steering, the only thing left for Sherlock and John to do was to climb up the ship's one mast, (being it was a fishing boat, and an old one, it only had one tall aluminum ,or some such, metallic mast, with one triangular sail hanging from it) and disable the rigging, that had wrapped its metallic cords around the forecastle,and with the busted radio, and the abundance of water,would send the crew of _La Belle, _into an eternal, electric sleep, if not otherwise disabled.

Sherlock had gone up ahead of John, hands protected in rubber gloves,and was cutting the wires when it happened.

The wind bowed the mast, like Heracle readying an arrow for Poseidon's heart. Sherlock pitched,and John swept to grab him.

And there they were, John clinging one hand to the about-to-snap mast, and clutching Sherlock ,for dear life, with the other.

Sherlock smiled. Poetic, he thought, really novel, that death-by-falling was his only way to go. He tried to disguise his own horror though, for John, who's eyes were as wide as an owl, looking into an endless night, and begging , pleading with the sirens ,whose wailing cry resonated through the ocean's soul, that this would not happen.

He'd already lost him to falling. And then he'd all but lost him to drowning. And now, this third time, it would be by both. Oh, please...pray heaven...

Sherlock smiled,knowing what he had to do. It was the only way to ensure that John would get down safely.

John clutched harder , knowing what he was thinking, nearly breaking the bones in his hand to keep him from doing such a thing. Perish the thought...

Or perish the man...

Sherlock knew John wouldn't be able to hear him over the accusing howl of the sirens,and so he didn't try to plead forgiveness..But John could see in his eyes,as the whites began to slowly turn red, (as if they were made of steel,and were superheated by the fire blazing within his soul) that he was truly sorry,but that he knew what he was doing.

He let go.

John screamed, and fought with him, trying to grasp harder, but he couldn't use both hands, because they would then both fall, and that would defeat his purpose.

But he didn't beg, because he had done so before. It didn't work.

In the end ,Sherlock fought his way out of the glove,and thus...

John shrieked,without sound, as he slipped out of his fingers,and into the sea.

Even if John knew that Sherlock was going to survive this last fall, still it would not have done anything to close the gaping vaccum in his heart.

Just as it had done with Jonah, when Sherlock entered the Deep, the storm stopped.


	14. Chapter 13: The Price of Brethren

**Chapter 13: The Price of Brethren~**

Just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

A swirl of chaos, and John Watson was once again on his knees, this time on the banks of the English Channel.

A flurry of storm and rabble, that had lead to his being landed here, safely, on boats provided by Mycroft and his men.

And Greg Lestrade had come with police cars, and ambulances,and shock blankets, and had wrapped Claire and her crew in them.

John refused the blanket, for no external warmth could thaw the ice now in his soul.

Mycroft came and stood in silence behind him, a hand on his shoulder, as he looked into the sunset.

That light fading away into darkness,and slipping into the waves, was a symbol to him of what had happened today...

He was barely aware of Claire being taken into Rene's arms, and of her sobbing silently, able to feel all of her pain.

But John was comatose inside, and totally numb without, wondering how this could have happened a third time?

It was Mycroft who spoke first, and his voice was quiet, barely above the whisper of the waves. His eyes shone with the dying light, that reminded them of that dark soul that had passed through their lives so briefly,and had vanished for the last time.

"It is odd, how predictable Sherlock was...Somehow I always knew that he would be the first of the two of us to go. Albeit I had always assumed that it would be from some recklessness of his, and never that it would have been a deliberate sacrifice done in my place..."

His voice grew heavier,as if his throat was filled with the ocean that had buried his brother for all time. But it was steady still, for all its heavy burden.

"Some have believed, mistakenly so...that love is a mystery to the Holmes race. But..,truthfully, it is not. We knew its nature, its volatility, he and I...

His was a caged fire. It could never be contained by this world. I knew it. Mum and Dad knew it. The world knew it. And Sherlock himself knew it.

But in the end, as it turns out, my brother was the master of his fire, Invictus to his fate. He could have chosen so many other lives...; he was very concious of his power of choice, and would remind me of it often when I was bossy...

He was rich beyond measure in the treasure of wisdom. Yes ,for all of his recklessness, my brother was wise in many ways ,that ,at some interval, equaled Solomon of old. And he knew the value of his gift,and he utilized it ,in the end, to that end. He helped people, simply because he could.

Until you.

He helped you because he wanted to. He helped you because, for a first, he _liked _you. And ,ere the end, he loved you...in the way that only brothers do.

There is no greater love than this, that a man lays down his life for his friends.

His life...John. So precarious, so volatile. So much potential, so much power...I am eternaly haunted, -seared-, by the flame of his eyes. By his darkness,by his fire. I will forever be followed by him, down ever corridor of life, until my heart sounds its alarm,and I shall breathe no more. His life...John. But his love far exceeded. It was the full force of his fire, the embers beneath the outward blaze.

It was as infinitely deep as the ocean that has taken him. He paid the ultimate price to guarantee we remain in this world, and yet we are the debtors more.

For how can we ever repay him? He laying now, limp as a little girl's doll, those eyes forever closed, at the bottom of this ocean? We could dreg the bottom, reclaim that remnant of himself he left behind. The candle to his inexhaustable fire...

But the Flame is gone. He is gone. He died...for us.

We are debtors more, and the price we pay ,to have been loved!, and to likewise love, in such a magnificant depth-!

Our price is our sorrow..."

Mycroft hung his head, and John was silent.

John may be silent until the end of the Age.

But somewhere in his mind he thought,

"I'd pay any price, no matter how steep, in blood , or sweat, or tears, if he'd just walk up out of the water and STOP being dead..."

* * *

He wakes from unconciousness,and passes through a dream, in which Mrs. Hudson brews him tea.

Hot tea,and rain on the window pane, the glow of the hearth, his phone vibrating in his palm. A client!

Somewhere far away arguing with Mycroft, somewhere else working with Lestrade, somewhere else in Molly's lab...

Somewhere in the same room as the aroma of the tea, he feels John's light beckoning to him ,like a lighthouse out of the shadow of the shore.

He coughs, and his nostrils bleed. Salt is making his hair cling. His hands are all twisted up in snapped and broken rigging,and a piece of the sail that had chipped off the top. His coat clings to him ,like a second skin.

Somehow he is floating. Head throbs. Throat aches. He sobs , the pain of the next few coughs would send him to his knees ,if he were standing.

He sinks for a moment back into the dream. Somewhere where it's Christmas. Snow is falling outside the window, soft as the lace unwinding from heaven's drapery.

John is here, somewhere in the room. Close, but also far away ,over across the water.

The water is cold, cuts into his bones.

Cold. Everywhere. Everything. And then the salt, stinging chapped lips...

Sinks into the dream, on the trough of the next wave.

"_Shouldn't you be in bed,dear?" _Mrs. Hudson's voice.

"_Right, you're going to bed. No discussion."_

Feels himself being lifted up on John's shoulder.

John.

His brows curl,and he laughs. Could John carry him that way? Midget...

Then he's on his hands and knees,and he feels sand.

"_Right, so Redbeard, you'll need to know this pathway, for when you're an older fellow,and my assistant on really important, as in historically altering, cases..."_

A child's voice. His own voice, long ago...

Now he is on his feet. Grinning like the devil, turned up to crash a wedding.

Opens his eyes, they are bleary with salt. The wind blasts over him, and he is so cold, soaked to his skin.

"SHERLOCK!"

Claire's voice, more clear than the other voices, here, wherever here is, on the shoreline.

He realizes he is alive.


	15. Chapter 14: The Pledge of Invictus

**Chapter 14: The Pledge of Invictus~**

John is on his feet before he can remember how to stand. Is thanking God without remembering to pray.

Because Clarie's shout caused him to look up,and see-!

Without cost, save a moment's sorrow, his greatest wish is given. Sherlock Holmes has cheated the devil ,one more time.

And there he stands, Invictus ignited, eyes alive from out of the Deep, soaked to his skin, teeth chattering.

"Well, seeing as I've evidently survived...I made you a promise, didn't I, John?" he says.

Invictus arisen, and having made a pledge. And this was the end to which you have been reading.

Yes, it seems that Fate can be changed! That Destiny is not in the hands of our Enemies after all. That time and chance befall the lot of us, but so does God's grace, so it seems.

No ,we don't know where our road will end,and no one can tell us for certain the day we are appointed to go, not even murderers and thieves have any true power.

But life is ours,and is in _our _ hands. We are Invictus; we can do anything.

John goes to Sherlock, mouth gaping, and is shaking his head, before he can speak.

Sherlock's nose is still bleeding,and he scrubs at it irritably, swaying on his feet.

"You..." John says, as a hundred near misses pass over his head, like planes doing acrobatics in the smoking sky.

And they are gone,and with them goes the shadow of death. John laughs good-naturedly,and Sherlock smiles.

"You...Don't you...EVER do that again..." John gasps,and takes Sherlock in his arms.

There is action surrounding them all over again.

Greg wraps one of the blankets around both of them. Claire comes and kisses both sides of Sherlock's face,and then runs after Greg, talking about repairs to _La Belle_, wanting to know about _Trahison'_s crew, now that _Trahison _himself has faced the firing squad.

Mycroft says something saucy,and Sherlock comes back with something equally snarky, and John doesn't hear a word of it.

He sees the older brother smile,and come,and lay a hand on Sherlock's face,and mutter,

"Well...be more careful, brother mine."

Action around them, but John just clings for dear life, feels Sherlock holding him tight in return.

"Did it again, did it again?" John babbles, baffled.

"It looks as though I was right about "third time's a charm" being so very terribly clichéd .But then, how often am I wrong?"

"Better question, how often are you modest about it?"

"Are you hungry? "

"What?! Sherlock, you've died twice in the same week. Will you give me time to catch my breath? Please and thank you!"

"Well, when you're done with the "catching your breath" thing...what shall we do about dinner? Don't say fish and chips...I don't know if I can stand the thought of anything ...aquatic...for at least 24 hours. It will take me a while to dry off, I think...Ach,and it's cold! You're shivering,John!"

John was shivering, but not because he was cold.

"Sherlock..."

"Mmmm?"

"Shut up."

"Ok."

John laid his head on Sherlock's shoudler,and they just stood there,as if turned to stone by the fading sunlight. Night set down on them, like the covers of a book hide the story of the day.

They stood there a good long while,when Greg came up , gently nudging John, and said,

"Either of you boys hungry? We were just discussing dinner?"

"I was discussing dinner an hour and a half ago, but John has been "catching his breath" since then."

"Ah,right. My God, you recover quickly, Sherlock! Maybe you should spend the evening in the hospital."

"Hospital?No. Boring... I know! Need . Not fish and chips."

Greg laughed the whole way to his car, an arm around either of them.

By now Claire and Mycroft were sitting on the hood of a fellow parked car, waiting.

"We were thinking hibachi..."Claire said.

"There won't be sushi, will there?" Sherlock asked, almost anxiously.

"No fish,Sherlock. Not tonight. Promise. You certainly are talkative for someone who has drowned recently, twice in a row? Good, I would like to finally do some "catching up" with you, before the wind blows me away again..."

There is more chatter, but John doesn't hear any of it, nor does he care if he ever eats, or sleeps, or breathes again.

The fate's design has just been dramatically altered. Why is he the ONLY one who notices it?!

He feels Sherlock's hand on his arm, leading him through a door, keeping him from stumbling...

Doesn't matter why. His Invictus is here, not at the bottom of the ocean. Is here to keep his promise.

And fate is no longer the master. And life is a glorious adventure ,after all. And all is well that doesn't end predictably...

_**~The End~**_


End file.
